The Empire
by Fragile Dragon
Summary: Oneshot. Hermione discovers that a fortress is useless if what it's protecting has already been destroyed.


**The Empire  
**(by Fragile Dragon)

Disclaimer: HP and all its characters and concepts belong to J.K. Rowling and some other really rich people. The opening quote I found on a wall of the Babylonian exhibit in the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York.

FYI: According to the Babylonian creation myth, the god Marduk slew the monster-goddess Tiamat and made the sky and the earth from her body. He then used her lover Kingu's blood and bones to create mankind. Mankind's sole purpose was to cater to the needs of the gods in their holy city of Babylon.

* * *

_Babylon, the exalted city, the city of the god Marduk…at the entrance to its gates I set massive bulls and fearsome dragons…its foundation I laid in the heart of the underworld, its summit I built as high as a mountain…_

Nebuchadnezzar II, 604-562 B.C.

* * *

_"Oh, Harry, your essay—it's ruined! But we may be able to salvage a little…here, stop the ink from getting too far across!"_

_"It's alright, Hermione, I would've had to write it over anyway. But is there any chance of me copying a bit of yours? It'll make it go much faster…"_

At least, that was what she wished he would say. Her mind conjured up a thousand different replies and reactions he could have had during the present situation: a growing puddle of ink swallowing up all five-thousand words he had scratched across three feet of parchment. Anger at her clumsiness; despair, since the assignment was due in half an hour; disregard, because he hated Snape and did not wish appointment into the Auror program any longer; laughter at the absurdity of the situation…all these would have been preferable to reality.

_"Oh, Harry, your essay—it's ruined! But we may be able to salvage a little…here, stop the ink from getting too far across!"_

But there was only silence, cold and stony. Not a word had issued forth from his lips in almost a year and a half. No words of pain or grief spoken after Sirius' death; no words of comfort for his adoptive family when their youngest son and brother was brutally killed six months later; no remorse was voiced when the last of his deceased father's friends, the ones that counted, was shot full of silver bullets during a full moon three months ago.

If nothing else, it was killing Hermione with memories of blank looks as an otherwise unresponsive Harry led her to the foot of the girls' dormitory stairs in the wee hours of morning, gently prying thick tomes from her raw fingers and nudging her away from the common room.

_I know you're there, Harry…_

She would not mind the knowledge that both Ron and Remus were dead if only Harry would share in the grief, the mourning. She would not mind the whispers, concerned or otherwise, if only he would stand up for himself and let the world know that he, Harry Potter, would never give in to Voldemort's evil schemes and terrorizing.

But she did mind, and he was still falling to pieces inside an impenetrable fortress.

The essay was unsalvageable. She fumbled inside her school bag to procure her own (much longer) assignment, but her moments of distraction caused her to miss Harry crumpling his ruined parchment and walk into the Potions classroom.

And there she was, alone in the cold dungeon corridor, kneeling on the stone floor while her spirit cowered in anxiety, knowing that within the place she felt safest, she too was falling apart.

"Miss Granger?"

Professor Snape loomed over her—and she was possessed by the thought that _looming_ was the only stance Severus Snape could ever hold.

"Would you like to explain why the contents of your bag are all around you? And, perhaps, why you are not inside my classroom?"

She looked up at him. "No, I would not," she replied dully. "Of course, is there an explanation you would accept?"

"There is the one."

Humor, from Professor Snape, was unexpectedly disturbing. He merely stood there watching her on the floor, waiting for a response.

"I wonder," she mused quietly, "whether he would mind terribly if I just went ahead and died?"

Hermione again lifted her head. Snape's face was blank.

"I doubt it," she continued after a moment's silence. "At least, right now I doubt it. He has erected walls inside himself against sorrow and pain, and as those are the thoughts he feels so deeply now, there is no room for words of any other sort. But perhaps when all this is over, he will mind. I suppose I should be there when he does speak. Otherwise, who else does he have?"

"Who else, indeed, Miss Granger," replied Snape. He paused. "I'm glad we had this conversation."

"It never happened, sir."

"Thank you. Perhaps you should tidy your belongings?"

"Yes, sir, I shall."

He disappeared inside the classroom. Hermione stayed completely still for several moments. Finally, satisfied with her current mental state, she began to collect her assignments and texts and place them all neatly within her school bag.

As she started to stand up, Hermione noticed a pair of feet close by her.

_Harry._

The two seventh years stared at each other. The seconds spent at this activity passed by them like hours, and Hermione knew each one contained the millions of emotions Harry was trying to protect her from until the right time.

He smiled at her and hugged her suddenly. _It'll be okay, Hermione_—the hoarse voice came and went so quickly she was sure she had imagined it, but she'd seen his lips move as he pulled away from their embrace…

But as the witch locked eyes with her friend once again, she knew his defenses were just as strong as they had been twenty minutes prior when the ink destroyed his homework. Hermione felt the elation of seeing her fractured friend put together again fade away.

Harry gave her a small, sad smile before he walked away…

…and, just for a moment, Hermione caught a glimpse of the fortress surrounding her best friend's broken soul.

It was crumbling into dust, stone by stone.

* * *

Fin 


End file.
